


love is like an ocean (that always takes me home)

by bucketofrice



Series: together, oceans apart [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, More tags to be added, One-Shots, picks up right after the before sunrise au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-16 18:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16959330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketofrice/pseuds/bucketofrice
Summary: A series of one-shots set in theBefore Sunriseuniverse.





	1. montreal, december

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! I'm back and back in this 'verse and I'm so thrilled about it. This is going to be a series of one-shots set in the same universe as [how far do i have to go (to get to you)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272893/chapters/38052743). They pick up right after the end of the other fic, so I'd recommend giving that one a glance before reading this.
> 
> Title: "What I Wouldn't Do" by Serena Ryder.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tessa and Scott's first days after she surprises him in Montreal.

Scott finds himself waking up as the first rays of sunlight filter through the gaps in the blinds. They dapple sunshine across the room, filling it with warm light. He stirs, pausing when he registers the solid form tucked into the crook between his neck and shoulder.  
  
He holds his breath for a beat, trying to compute what exactly is happening, and why there’s a comforting weight on his chest that seems to move in synch with his breathing and the beating of his own heart.  
  
It takes a second, but then it hits him.  
  
Tessa.  
  
The memories start coming back to him, one after another, in rapid succession. A day’s worth of worry. Crushing hugs, tender kisses, _not-so-tender_ embraces, and finally, the realization that he might get to be with her—for good. It’s overwhelming, in the best way, and he can’t help but pull her a bit closer as the occurrences of the past twelve hours start sinking in.  
  
She’s in Montreal, to surprise him. She’s in Montreal, because soon, she might be permanently living in Montreal. She wants to move to Montreal—and she wants to _be with him_. It’s a tad more than his still-addled brain can currently manage (the sex last night was _really_ good and he hasn’t fully recovered, so sue him) and he lets out a deep breath before pulling her closer and carefully pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  
  
He breathes her in and feels a sense of contentment bloom deep in his chest. He hasn’t felt this settled in months, and really, everything is still up in the air. But somehow, her presence alone grounds him, like an anchor on a dinghy, and he thinks—probably with less caution than he should have—that this is all going to be spectacular.  
  
They’ve got time with each other, finally, and they can be with one another without the niggling reminder that the end is just around the corner.  
  
Tessa latched onto him at some point in the night, burrowed herself into his side, and he thinks that he doesn’t mind it at all, that he quite likes to feel her small form pressed tightly to his side. It makes the whole situation more real, somehow, and less like it’s lifted out of a dream that he admits he had embarrassingly often during the six months they spent apart. He can’t count the number of times he woke up in the middle of the night, reaching for something—or rather, someone—and then coming to the realization that there was nothing there.  
  
He wonders what it must say about him that he was able to so vividly recall the presence of a woman with whom he spent scarcely twelve hours in a foreign country. But now, with Tessa warm and pliant in his arms, he has to admit he finds he really doesn’t care.  
  
She begins to stir, crinkling her nose ever so slightly, as if the dust particles that float around the room like sparkles have gotten to her. He can’t help but smile affectionately as her face scrunches up and she peels one eye open, then the other.  
  
She blinks once, twice, before looking up at him. He sees a bit of disbelief and a whole lot of awe in her face and he thinks his own expression must look much the same.  
  
“Hi sleepyhead,” he murmurs, bringing his thumb up to softly caress the apple of her cheek.  
  
“Hi,” she croaks out, grimacing a little as she clears her throat. It’s positively endearing. “You’re really here.”  
  
Soft laughter bubbles up and out of his throat. “Yeah. You’re really here too.”  
  
“Am I dreaming?” she asks, furrowing her brow. It’s adorable and he has half a mind to chuckle before he sees how seriously she means it. He wonders idly if she had the same dreams he had, for all those months, of thinking he was there and then waking up to find out he wasn’t. The thought makes his chest ache.  
  
He shakes his head. “No,” he says, dipping down to capture her lips in a slow kiss. “This feel real enough to you?”  
  
“Mhmm,” she murmurs into his lips, sighing as she presses herself closer still.  
  
It is real, gloriously so, and Scott thinks he could whoop and holler with the enormity of it all. He doesn’t though, instead chooses to press his lips to Tessa’s again, savouring every movement, because he can do that now; he can kiss her without frantically trying to memorize it all for future recall. He can be in the moment, fully and with every fibre of his being, and he intends to take advantage of every second.  
  
By the way Tessa responds his touch—with full-bodied enthusiasm—he’s pretty sure she’s feeling the same.  
  
A bit later, they’re very nearly dozing off again, when he hears a tiny little rumble from the general area of her abdomen. Tessa flushes a pretty crimson colour, and lets out a chuckle. He can’t help himself, he has to reach down to her stomach, skimming over her bellybutton piercing (he makes a mental note to ask her about that someday) and tickle her sides.  
  
She squirms away from him, letting out a yelp and a squeal, and he dissolves into laughter. She tries to fix him with her sternest look possible, but fails spectacularly when she can’t stop the corners of her eyes from crinkling. He raises an eyebrow at her, plotting out his next point of attack, when she catches him off-guard, flipping them both so she’s straddling him.  
  
She grins down at him, her long hair fanning over her face and tickling his chest.  
  
“You were saying,” she says, a glint in her eye.  
  
Very quickly, he feels his throat dry up and his blood rush to lower parts of his body. He can’t believe she’s real, and actually here, and perched above him looking like _that_. He’s about to surrender, let her have his way with him (not that she hadn’t before), when her stomach grumbles again.  
  
They lock eyes and suddenly any tension they were building toward is gone, broken up by their simultaneous fits of laughter.  
  
“We gotta feed you, T!” he says, propping himself up on his elbows. “C’mon, I’ll make breakfast.”  
  
She nods. “And coffee, please. Lots of coffee.”  
  
Scott just laughs.

+++  
  
Outside of her a few scheduled meetings at the Montreal office, Tessa has the rest of the week pretty free, she tells him over breakfast. Her company is planning on setting her up with apartment options, and she says she can plan the visits around his coaching hours.  
  
“The Grand Prix Final is over, so you’re not travelling till Nationals, right?” She looks up at him from over the rim of her mug and Scott nods.  
  
“You really did your research, eh?” he says, as a smile forms at the corner of his lips.  
  
“I told you, I coordinated with Sam,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. He doesn’t miss the sparkle in her eyes though. She’s so proud of herself for her surprise, and he fucking loves it.  
  
“Mhmm,” he replies. “I still cannot believe you orchestrated all this. Never had you pegged as a mastermind, Virtch.”  
  
She laughs. “Scott, I can be crafty when I want to. I thought you’d realized that by now.”  
  
He thinks back to the many many carefully curated pictures and messages she’d sent him over the past six months (including all the blatant thirst traps) and barks out a laugh.  
  
“You’re crafty all right. And evil, mind you. You gotta warn a man before you send him pictures of you looking like _that_.”  
  
_That_ includes but is not limited to sternum-exposing jumpsuits, backless dresses, and oh, that one time she’d sent him a picture of her in bed, wearing nothing but a set of Calvin Klein underwear, her white duvet pushed down past her thighs, exposing her abs and her bellybutton piercing. _Sundaze_ , indeed, he thinks as he remembers his reaction, which had consisted of dropping his phone on his (thankfully carpeted) living room floor and nearly choking on his beer.  
  
She giggles. “It was cute when you started responding with more than ‘fucking hell, T.’ I saved the ab day selfie, just for the record. Kept me company on lonely nights.” She drawls out the last bit and fucking winks before taking a demure sip of her coffee, batting her eyelashes innocently.  
  
Scott, meanwhile, chokes on his water.  
  
“Jesus Christ, woman, are you out to kill me?” he finally manages. Sure, he’d hoped, on some level, that she responded to his messages and pictures with the same level of _enthusiasm_ that he afforded hers, but it’s an entirely different beast to hear her say it out loud. Thinking of Tessa doing _that_ to pictures of him? Well, it would really do more to his lower half if he weren’t still coughing like a lunatic.  
  
Tessa senses his distress and quickly walks over, hitting him on the back and making sure he’s okay. When he calms himself down enough to have another sip of water, he looks up at Tessa, who’s got an apologetic look in her eyes.  
  
Scott just laughs in disbelief and presses a kiss to her lips. She really does contain multitudes.  
  
+++

Scott takes her to the rink for the first time on the day after her meeting to confirm the job offer.  
  
She has yet to meet Sam in person, and Scott can’t wait to see them have their first proper interaction. He has a feeling that they got along swimmingly online, and he hopes Tessa and Sam can bond in real life too.  
  
Selfishly, he also wants to introduce her to Marie and Patch, who, by virtue of having caught him paying far more attention to his phone than normal over the last few months, are aware of Tessa’s existence. They both expressed their (well-meaning) doubts at the prudence of keeping up an online connection to someone he had only vague plans to see again—months after their first meeting—and Scott, well, he kind of can’t wait to prove them wrong.  
  
He opens the doors to the rink and lets Tessa step inside. He didn’t expect to be so nervous about this, had hoped he’d be calm and collected, but now, his hands are faintly clammy and he’s breathing a bit faster than normal.  
  
He hopes she likes it, hopes she isn’t somehow disillusioned by his work. He coaches junior skaters, mostly, and he loves all his students and what he does. It’s so fulfilling to see them begin to reach their full potential and develop and he’s proud of the results they’ve all achieved.  
  
But he has to admit being a skating coach is much less glamorous than working in fashion, and there’s a small part of him that worries she’ll be disappointed.  
  
When they start walking down the hallway, Tessa takes his hand and gives it a squeeze, smiling up at him.  
  
“I took figure skating lessons as a kid, for about a year,” she says. “I think I’d have stuck with it if I hadn’t had to quit because of ballet.”  
  
“Really?” He’s surprised this hasn’t come up.  
  
“Yeah,” she says. “I wonder if I could still stay upright now.”  
  
“I’m sure you were a natural, T.” She scoffs at that. “It’s kind of like riding a bike. You’d get back into the swing of it in no time.”  
  
“Maybe we could skate together sometime?” She looks up at him with a shy smile and he feels his heart grow three sizes in his chest.  
  
“I’d love that.”  
  
He’s about to lean down and press a kiss to her lips when he hears footsteps approaching from down the hall. It’s Sam, and Scott can’t help but smile and wave as the other man bounds down the hallway.  
  
“Tessa, ma belle!” he exclaims, like he’s known her for ages. “Tu es ici! It worked!”  
  
Tessa laughs and lets herself be pulled into a hug. “It’s so great to finally meet you,” she says, smiling. “Thank you so much for all the help.”  
  
“Anytime, my dear. It’s been a pleasure to help Scott over here with his social media, and have a little secret from him.” Sam’s got a conspiratorial glint in his eye and Scott cannot believe they’re already ganging up on him.  
  
“Hey,” he exclaims, “I’m still here!”  
  
They both break out into laughter and Scott grins.  
  
“Aww, feeling left out?” Tessa jokes, poking him in the ribs playfully. “You know, if I hadn’t grown so fond of you, I’d have to say Sam is right at the top of my list of favourite Montrealers.”  
  
Scott scoffs in faux-offence. The _audacity_ of this woman. He fucking loves it.  
  
Sam claps him on the shoulder. There are tears in his eyes from how hard he’s laughing. “You found a good one there, man.”

+++

After they go observe some of the training sessions and Scott explains to Tessa what the skaters and coaches are doing on the ice, he spots Marie and Patch out of the corner of his eye. They’re standing by the boards, trying (and failing) to discreetly observe him and Tessa as they’re talking to one another.  
  
Scott shakes his head at their antics and nudges Tessa. “Those are my bosses, Marie-France Dubreuil and Patrice Lauzon. They’re former ice dance partners and now they coach all the best teams. Oh, and they’ve got the cutest little girl, Billie-Rose. They’re the reason I started coaching in the first place.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I’ve known them for forever, since back when I still competed myself. After I stopped, I didn’t cope in the best way I could have, and Marie and Patch had to knock some sense into me.” He shudders at the memory, at the months he spent drinking too much and calling his mother too little. He remembers his brothers dragging him out of bars and feeling completely unmoored, his career gone and his life fairly directionless.  
  
Marie had approached him at a local competition his mother forced him to help out at, and she’d basically read him the riot act. He’d deserved it. Afterward, she’d offered him a job. Now, years later, he’s a certified coach at Gadbois and managed to get a bachelors in business on the side.  
  
He trails off when he sees the two of them approaching, and then they’re there, and two of Scott’s worlds are colliding—just a little bit.  
  
Patch is the first one to hold out his hand to Tessa, introducing himself with a smile. Marie follows suit, and he can see her stiffen just a little when Tessa mentions her full name.  
  
“You are Tessa Virtue?” Tessa nods and Scott looks between her and Marie, utterly confused. “You used to dance at the National!”  
  
Tessa nods, her eyes wide. “Yeah, but that was a lifetime ago. Did Scott tell you?”  
  
Marie shakes her head. “Non, my dear. I worked with Heather and Guillaume on choreography, many years ago. I saw you in classes and in workshops; you and other students helped translate movement for the ice.”  
  
He can see understanding dawn on Tessa, and her face breaks out into a smile. All the while, he still has no clue what the hell is going on. He locks eyes with Patch, and is relieved to see the other man is similarly out of the loop.  
  
“Oh my god, that was you, I remember it now! It’s so good to see you again, Marie.” Marie pulls Tessa in for a hug, and it tugs at Scott’s heartstrings.  
  
Still: “A little help here?”  
  
Marie laughs as she lets go of Tessa. “Heather and Guillaume are principals at the National. They helped me with choreo work, and your Tessa,” Scott beams at the _your_ , he can’t help himself, “was at the ballet back then.”  
  
“What a crazy coincidence.”  
  
“Mmhm.” Marie hums. “You should have seen her dance, Scott. It was … something. The fluidity and movement—exquisite.”  
  
Tessa blushes at the older woman’s praise, and Scott beams.  
  
“I don’t doubt it for a second.”  
  
+++

They’re in Scott’s kitchen, Tessa is perched on a stool with a glass of wine before her, and he’s preparing dinner. She messaged him enough times about her various culinary mishaps that they agreed she’d provide moral support to this endeavour rather than practical help, and he can tell she’s glad for it.  
  
For the sake of his kitchen, he is too.  
  
They’ve fallen into easy discussion, much like they had in Vienna, and he relishes in the fact that they haven’t run out of things to talk about. There was a part of him that worried that after twelve hours of non-stop conversation, they were bound to have exhausted all topics between them, but it turns out the opposite is true.  
  
Tessa fascinates him beyond belief, and he thinks he could spend hours talking to her and never get bored. (Or, you know, _not talk_ , that’s always an option too.)  
  
He’s simmering sauce on the stovetop and about to let it do its thing and join Tessa for a glass of wine when it happens. She looks up from her wine and smiles over at him. “I could at least help make a salad, you know? That’s fairly straightforward.” There’s a twinkle in her eye and Scott grins.  
  
He’s so endeared that he absolutely does not process what he says next. “I got it covered, T. But thank you. I love you and that you want to help, though.” It’s only when the words have already left his mouth that he realizes. _Oh fuck, he really said that. Holy shit._ “Oh my god, uh, ignore that okay? Just, like, pretend that didn’t happen, alright. I’m, god, you don’t have to say anything—”  
  
He’s doubling over himself in an effort to backpedal and he completely misses how Tessa’s eyes go wide and a grin spreads across her face. All he can focus on is the fact that his mouth ran away with him again, and he told her he loves her. Three days after seeing her again.  
  
It’s not that it’s a lie—by god, it isn’t, he loves her so much that his chest aches with the weight of it—but it’s way too soon. God, he’s an idiot.  
  
He doesn’t notice she’s been eyeing him until she clears her throat and he finally shuts up. “You done there?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow. He nods and swallows. Shit. “Good,” she says, a smile playing around her lips, “because I’ve been meaning to tell you I’m in love with you too.”  
  
At that, he’s pretty sure his heart skips about three beats. _Oh my god._ She loves him too. His brain short-circuits for a hot second there, and he can’t stop looking at her. _Oh my god._  
  
Eventually, he regains his composure (and thanks whatever deity is currently on his side) long enough to speak again. Apparently, and this he is realizing pretty quickly, he processes through humour. “Really, Tess? It’s only been like three days, you’re moving pretty fast there.”  
  
(How he manages to deliver that line with any semblance of nonchalance, he has no idea.)  
  
She scoffs at that. “Are you kidding me? You said it first!”  
  
They’re in a stand-off for a second there until he cracks under her stare.  
  
They really are ridiculous, the pair of them.  
  
“Of course I’m kidding you,” he says, and opens up his arms to her. “C’mere.”  
  
When she takes two steps toward him and meets him in a searing kiss, he feels the last piece of his heart slot into place.


	2. paris and london, december

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott visits Tessa in Paris, and they celebrate Christmas at home with their respective families.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to [falsettodrop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsettodrop/pseuds/falsettodrop) for reading this over, and to [restlessvirtue](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/restlessvirtue/pseuds/restlessvirtue) for spitballing all the fluff.
> 
> All the blame for the Mariah Carey references should be directed at me.

When Tessa had imagined what it would be like when Scott came to Paris, six months from the day he convinced her to get off the train, her brain would spin in a million different directions.

First came the worrying.

What if he never showed up? Just left her to wait at Charles de Gaulle with empty promises and a sorry excuse? What if his flight got delayed, or cancelled, or worse yet, what if he suffered a horrible plane crash right over the Atlantic and never made it to France at all (statistically unlikely, she knows, but still)?

Then came the doubts.

What if, once he did arrive, he’d be nothing like she remembered him? What if she’d built up an illusion in her head, of this perfect man with fluffy hair and hazel-flecked eyes and eyebrows that could arch to the heavens? What if her addled brain had embellished all their encounters in Vienna, put a rose-coloured filter over their every step, every touch? What if, once they were reunited, he didn’t want to touch her or kiss her at all?

What if he’d gotten a girlfriend, only saw the trip as an excuse to go sightseeing? What if he brought her along? Effectively made her the world’s most awkward third wheel? (She has to stop herself there, because even if he did magically get a girlfriend he didn’t tell her about, she has to give him enough credit to know that he wouldn’t just show up with her, unannounced.)

Finally, there were nights when she let herself hope.

She’d imagine being there, at CDG, anxiously looking at the arrivals board. She’d imagine checking her phone for flight status updates like a crazy person, going to the arrivals gate, scanning the crowd. She’d imagine getting there way too early, trying to spot him through the sliding doors.

She’d imagine seeing him walk through, suitcase in tow, looking tired from the flight, hair disheveled but still fluffy and perfect. She’d imagine the bags under his eyes, and the crinkle in them when he’d spot her. She’d imagine his whole face lighting up in this huge smile, and the hug he’d sweep her up in as soon as they met.

And then, well then, in true rom-com fashion, she’d imagine the kiss. How his lips would find hers, just so, how he’d wrap his arms around her and pull her tight, how she’d run her fingers through his hair and tug, how they’d get lost in the moment and each other and forget all about the people around them—  

“Tess.” She hears a low voice murmur into her ear and she jerks awake with a start. “You’ve gotta wake up, we’re about to land.”

“Mmm,” she mumbles, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes. She yawns and it takes her a minute to register where she is—and more importantly, who she’s with.

It’s six months from “yesterday,” from the day Scott convinced her to get off a train and join him in Vienna. It’s the day he’s supposed to be flying to Paris. And he is, he’s actually due to land in about twenty minutes.

Except, well, except she is too.

She’s on the plane with him, fresh off a week in Montreal, and she can’t help but think that her brain, even in its wildest dreams, couldn’t have come up with _this_.

 _This_ being Scott at her side, plans for the future, declarations of love shared between them, and a guarantee that their relationship is strong enough to transcend the liminal space they’d created for it.

She’d wandered off into her own thoughts as she’d absentmindedly put her seat back in the upright position and moved to gather the blanket she’d gotten tangled up in. Now, as she rolls up the scarf she’d brought and tucks it into the carry-on under her seat, she catches Scott looking at her with the fondest of gazes.

She smiles shyly and blushes as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Where’d ya go just then?” he asks.

“Just thinking,” she says, sitting back up so she can lean into his side. They’d long pushed up the armrest between them, and she relishes in the fact that he wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer still.

He hums. “About what?”

“About the fact that I’m so happy, and that I get to show you Paris. It’s gorgeous this time of year.”

He presses a kiss to her temple. “I’m sure it is. And it’ll be even more gorgeous because I get to share it with you.”

+++

Actually getting into CDG turns out to be less romantic than she imagined. The holiday season means there are travellers galore, Scott’s suitcase gets mistakenly unloaded with the odd-size luggage, and it takes them ages to find it. By the time they finally make it to the parking garage, they’re both exhausted.

Still, they cram their luggage in the trunk of her tiny Renault Twingo and head to her apartment. Scott scoffs at the small car at first but quickly grows to see its use as they make their way through the narrow streets and head into the city, driving past roundabouts and tiny parking spaces.

Her apartment is a small studio, but it’s centrally located, in an old building with a courtyard. Scott insists on carrying both their suitcases up the windy staircase, and Tessa has to laugh when he sets them down in front of her door with an audible huff.

She unlocks the door and shows him in, waiting in the entryway as he surveys the space.

It’s small, with a tiny kitchen and a table with two chairs, an antique sofa and a bed under the window. It’s light and airy, with high ceilings and a small balcony. The whole apartment is white and cream, helping make the small space feel a bit brighter. Her sketches are in the corner by the bookcase, which stretches floor to ceiling on the far wall.

Her apartment may be tiny but it’s home—at least it has been. It won’t be anymore in just a few weeks’ time, when all her things will be in boxes in a container crossing the Atlantic. The empty boxes haven’t yet been assembled, but they’re leaning on the far wall and she sees Scott looking at them for a beat.

“You’re really moving,” he says, and there’s amazement in his voice, like it’s just now sinking in that this is real. She knows the feeling.

She’s smiling as she walks up to him and hugs him from behind, pressing her cheek in between his shoulder blades. He takes her hands and entwines them with his own, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before holding them over his heart.

He’s solid and warm beneath her cheek and she lets out a contented sigh.

“Yeah, I really am.”

Scott lets go of her hands and turns so they’re facing one another. He looks tired, hair mussed and bags under his eyes, but to her, he’s never looked more beautiful. She reaches up and smooths down a particularly unruly lock of hair. He smiles, his eyes crinkling as he leans down to peck her on the lips.

When she pushes herself up on her tiptoes to reciprocate, she realizes fairly quickly that the walk she had planned for today—to help with the jet lag and jumpstart the sightseeing—might have to be postponed for a little while.

But if the fervour with which Scott has begun kissing her is any indication, she won’t be mad about their new use of time at all.

+++

They do end up sightseeing—visiting the Eiffel Tower and the Champs-Élysées and the Louvre and many other spots in the city that Scott’s never been to before—and it’s fun to play tour guide and show him the city she’s gotten to call home these past few years.

She giggles as Scott watches the window displays in the Galeries Lafayette with fascination, and twirls her on the banks of the Seine.

She loves Paris, always has, ever since she was a little girl and saw pictures of it in books and on TV, but she thinks that she loves this version of Paris the most. It’s the one where she gets to have him taste the best macarons and show him cute little cafés and do all the things he never can when he’s usually here.

He told her he’d been to Paris a few times (as a coach and a skater) but competitions usually kept him cooped up in rinks all day, with no real opportunity to explore. She can tell he’s relishing in this vacation just as much as she is, and it fills her with joy.

When they’d planned Scott’s trip, they knew he had to go home for Christmas, and so did Tessa, so they booked him a return flight for the 22nd. Now, Tessa also has a seat on the same flight, and the movers are set to pick up her boxes that morning.

They’d spent their week being cheesy tourists, packing up her boxes and spending _quality time_ in her bed. In short, it had been perfect.

Now, it’s the evening of the 21st of December, and Scott is finally cashing in on his promise.

They’re at the public skating rink at Champ de Mars, with a view of the Eiffel tower. When she’d asked him, back at Gadbois, if they could go skating together sometime, she’d meant it. Scott had lit up at the offer, and she thinks this is the perfect time to go skating—at Christmastime, with twinkling lights all around them.

They take a stroll through the market first, stopping at stalls for hot chocolate and mulled wine and raclette. Scott picks up an ornament for his parents’ tree, a little reindeer with a red nose, and Tessa can’t resist tapping him on the nose when he’s tucking the paper bag away in his coat pocket. He had mulled wine, and she can tell the alcohol is getting to him a little.

“You look like Rudolph,” she says, barely suppressing a giggle. “Your nose is all red.”

Scott sticks out his tongue and presses it to the tip of her nose. “Well _yours_ is cold. So take that.”

She leads him from the booths to the ice rink and watches excitedly as his eyes light up. He gestures over at the rink, as if to ask the question: _are they actually doing this?_ She nods and presses herself up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Scott beams.

She laughs as he tries to explain in broken French what size skates they’ll both need, giving the elderly attendant a knowing wink before stepping in and translating for Scott. He gives her a sheepish grin.

He helps her tie her laces, checking to make sure they’re tight but not too tight, and presses a kiss to her knee as he sets her foot down on the ground. She marvels at the speed with which he ties his own laces, and giggles as he complains about the ill-fitting rentals. (“There’s nothing like heat-moulded skates with your own blades, Tess!”)

When they step onto the ice, he takes her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Tessa squeezes back and pushes forward, trying a few experimental strokes before she finds her footing again.

After that one year of skating as a little girl, she’d had to quit to make way for ballet. But after her career had ended prematurely, she’d been able to skate again, every once in a while, mostly during the holiday season. Tessa wouldn’t consider herself a good skater, by any means, but she can stay upright well enough.

Scott seems impressed by the way she carries herself, and she’s emboldened by it, trying her hand at a shaky swizzle. Scott laughs with delight, squeezing her hand as they loop around the rink, weaving in and out of groups of skaters.

She keeps looking over at him, at the ease with which he moves across the ice, like it’s as natural to him as breathing or walking. It’s fascinating to see the controlled speed of his blade. “You’re really good at this,” she whispers from where she’s pressed into his side.

He chuckles. “Eh, maybe a little. You’re not too bad yourself.”

She hums. “Do something fancy.”

“Like what?”

She shrugs her shoulders and Scott looks like he’s weighing options, glancing out to the rink to see if there are any relatively empty spots.

Eventually, he moves out to the centre of the rink, gathering speed before he launches upward into an axel. He lands to scattered applause from the other skaters, and Scott gives a little wave before throwing in some fancy footwork, toe stops and couple more turns as he circles his way back to Tessa.

“Fancy enough for you?”

They skate a few more laps until Tessa complains her feet are aching and Scott agrees that getting some more hot chocolate might not be the worst idea. When they’re leaving the ice and returning the rental skates, Tessa looks back at the Eiffel tower.

It might be the last time she sees it for a good long while, and she wants to remember exactly what it looks like.

“Are you sure about this?” Scott says, after she’s stood there for a beat, unmoving. “About leaving all this behind? You made yourself a life here, Tess.”

Is she sure?

She weighs fashion week and pain au chocolat against room for growth and home and Scott, and she finds herself certain. There was only ever one answer to that question. She turns around.

“Scott, I'm ready to go home.”

+++

When they fly back to Canada, she heads to London and he goes to Ilderton. It makes sense, because, even though it’s been six months, their actual relationship is scarcely a month old. He’ll spend Christmas with his family, she’ll spend it with hers, and then, they’ll do New Year’s in Montreal, together.

Still, she misses him.

She misses him when her mother tells her to quit daydreaming and roll out the cookie dough, when Jordan remarks that she’s been on her phone an awful lot lately, when her brothers congratulate her on the promotion and impending move to Montreal.

She misses him when they ask about his trip to Paris, and if they’ll get to meet him someday, and when Jordan gets her to show her photos of the two of them they took on the banks of the Seine.

She misses him the most when she calls him on Christmas Eve (because she can do that now) and listens to his voice as he describes the Moir Christmas to her, in all its raucous glory. She lies down underneath her own tree, looks up at the sparkling lights and hears him tell the tale of the latest disaster. In the background there are children laughing and adults talking and her heart squeezes tight.

“Merry Christmas, Tess,” he murmurs into the phone right before he has to go.

“Merry Christmas. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She’s so caught up in her own thoughts when the line goes silent that she almost misses Jordan snickering in the corner. “So you luuurve him.”

Tessa ends that particular line of questioning with a strategically thrown pillow and a huff. So _what_ if she’s in love with him? So what if she can’t keep off her phone? So what?

At ten that night, Tessa is still restless.

She moves from the couch to the floor to the window seat and back again, tries to listen to some carols and watch a crappy movie, but to no avail. Eventually, she gives up. She pulls on her parka and warmest toque, slides on her boots and grabs her car keys.

The roads to Ilderton are surprisingly clear, and her GPS is leading her straight to the ice rink. Scott had told her once that his family lived right across the street, so she figures driving there is probably her best bet.

When she pulls into the empty parking lot, she turns off the ignition and pulls out her phone.

There’s a brief moment where she considers turning back and heading home, where she wonders how creepy it is that she’s practically outside his parents’ house and he has no idea. She shoves that to the back of her mind though and types in Scott’s number.

He picks up on the third ring, and she exits the car, walking to the edge of the parking lot.

“Tess?” he says, and there’s concern in his voice.

“Look outside, over by the rink.” She gets up on her tiptoes and waves, hoping he sees her from one of the houses. If not, she just looks like an idiot, out there in the cold.

He’s silent for a few seconds before … “Kiddo, is that you?”

She laughs. “Yeah. Get out here, I’m freezing.”

“Hang on, hang on.” She hears rustling and footsteps and a few minutes later, a figure emerges in the street across from her.

It’s Scott, dressed in an equally ridiculous parka and a Canada toque. He hangs up the phone when he spots her, quickening his pace. When he reaches her, he looks utterly confused.

She doesn’t blame him.

“I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas in person,” is all she says before she pushes herself up on her tiptoes and slots her lips against his. Scott wraps his arms around her as best their parkas allow it, and she smiles into the kiss. He tastes like gingerbread and chocolate and a little bit of Bailey’s. Most of all, he tastes like home.

She pulls away, breathless and flushed, and settles back down on her heels.

“I missed you,” she whispers into the cold night, taking his hand and entwining their fingers.

“Missed you too,” he responds, pulling her close and dropping kisses to the top of her head. They sway until she starts to shiver, and Scott runs his hands up and down her sides in an effort to warm her up. He looks at her with such care and concern that she could melt right then and there, despite the frigid temperatures and the wind.

“I should go home,” she says, “let you be with your family, get back to mine.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Merry Christmas, T.”

He presses one more kiss to her hair and gives her hand a squeeze before she turns to walk back to her car. She’s taken two steps when she hears his voice again.

“Hey Tess?” She turns around.

“What?”

Scott grins and starts singing off-key, adjusting the lyrics as he goes.

“ _Y_ _ou made_ my wish come true… All I want for Christmas, is you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make my day. Feel free to yell at me here, or on Tumblr, @good-things-come-in-threes, or Twitter, @_bucketofrice.


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